Paul Anka's Wedding Day
by BehrBeMine
Summary: What was supposed to be Lorelai's shining day is told from the perspective of someone more unlikely.


Title: Paul Anka's Wedding Day  
Author: BehrBeMine  
Feedback: I have never attempted Lorelai without a lot of Rory to back her up. Please let me know how I've done?  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Don't sue, I'll cry. ;p  
Rating: PG  
Summary: What was supposed to be Lorelai's shining day is told from the perspective of someone more unlikely.  
Spoilers: Up through 'Bridesmaids Revisited'.  
Distribution: Just let me know where it's going and we'll be okay.  
Author's Note: I have to thank my wonderful mother, who helped me out so much in designing the menu for Lorelai's day.  
Dedication: For my wonderful friend Crystal. There is nothing I could do or say to pay you back for the wonderful friendship you have given me. The best that I can offer is this. I hope it's a start.

- -  
Paul Anka wakes up. Not in his usual spot. Lately, he has taken to sleeping in Lorelai's arms, rolling over occasionally so that she can affectionately scrub his tummy with her fingernails. With his stomach exposed to his mommy, he is always happy, content, warm. Today is an exception. Today is his wedding day.

He is at the foot of the bed, cold, from being on top of the covers, though as he switches to a sun patch on the comforter, he starts to warm up. He looks up at the head of the bed, where his mommy, Lorelai, lies with her arms around her first born. They sleep together comfortably; Rory curled up as if in the womb, Lorelai with her arms around her daughter from behind, body curled into her slender back. Eyes closed, they resemble a pair of cherubs, with identical ruby lips pouted in sleep and surrender.

Paul Anka turns his head to the open window, where a small bird sits atop the particular portion of the roof, sunning itself, as Paul Anka is doing as well. The June sun is warm, inviting, and yellow. Paul Anka likes yellow. Sometimes Lorelai will plop a scoop of yellow scrambled eggs on top of his food dish, and he likes yellow then, as he likes yellow now. Yellow is best when in the morning, and served with cheese. The sun sometimes looks like cheese. It would be a happy day to jump high enough to reach that tempting sun.

Maybe another day.

The bird on the roof begins to sing a song, a pleasant little tune it hums with its mouth, throat and tongue. Paul Anka likes music, especially that of the seventies. Lorelai dances with him. Well, she says it's "with" him, although mostly he just watches. He doesn't like to dance, but he likes to watch. And that is how he dances with her. She pulls him along by his paws, scooching his legs along with the beat. She is a good dancer, if a dog is any verified judge of that. Paul Anka likes to think he is a verified judge of whatever he chooses, including the perfect time to nap, the cool stillness of eating alone in the dark, and the joys of chasing Babette's cat around the yard. He is like a hobbit, very set in his ways, very used to frequent meals, and he enjoys the comparison, even if the only hobbits he's ever seen have come from that talking, animated box in the living room. Things in that box are smaller than the things that sit next to him on the couch, but sometimes seem just as real.

The singing bird twitter begins to bring Rory into a state of consciousness. Paul Anka watches her eyelashes as they flutter on her delicate eyelids, then rise to reveal the stunning blue of her soulful eyes. She doesn't pay attention to Paul Anka often, but when she does, oh, he prefers to look into those eyes. Paul Anka wonders if his eyes are also blue. He tried asking Lorelai once, though she only smiled and nodded conversationally, answering with, "I know! That's what I would have said." Paul Anka thinks perhaps she didn't understand. They're that way with one another. Often one has no idea what the other is saying, but they both like to pretend they're in a very high state of fused together brains. They may be very different, but they're alike in that way.

Rory sighs sadly, and Paul Anka thinks it's because her back is facing the sun. But she appears to perk up as she really hears the bird that has awoken her from her slumber. Paul Anka thinks it must be a pleasant sound to wake up to, just as the starting of the shower often coaxes him gently away from sleep. It's much nicer than the grunts and groans of that Luke man who insists on staying over so much of the time, effectively taking Rory's spot, which takes away Paul Anka's spot and sends him again, lately, to the end of the bed. Paul Anka prefers to have Lorelai, his mommy, all to himself, but understands why things cannot always be that way. He's an understanding fellow, so long as you give him the chance. Sure, he has his quirks, but so does everybody. Isn't that right? Quite.

"Mom?" says Rory finally, her voice barely above a squeak. She pats her mom's hands which are clasped around Rory's waist. "Mom? Are you awake? I can't see you; I'm facing the wrong way."

"Mrph," comes the mutter from Lorelai's lips. Her eyes, Paul Anka notices, remain closed.

Rory nods, understanding. "Do you think it's time to get up?"

"Rpund."

"Okay, if you insist." Rory carefully takes the arms from around her waist and gives them back to Lorelai, where they belong. She sits up, stretching her upper body, that delicate back of hers showing when her night shirt slips up some as she raises her arms above her head. She stands, and turns to face the sun, her hair a tousled mess. She has bangs today. Paul Anka often remarks to himself (but only himself, as he's given up on others understanding) that it's amazing the way that girl's bangs play peek-a-boo. Sometimes, like in the morning, they're there, and other times, they're hidden behind some fancy barrette, or fastened beneath a trendy headband. Paul Anka's bangs are not so questionable. They tend to stay in his eyes, as they were when he was born. He doesn't do much with hair products. Not because he's a dog, but because he prefers not to. Certainly the natural, slept-in, windblown fashion is the way to go.

Rory smiles so convincingly at Paul Anka that he thinks she might actually be happy. He wonders. She steps forward to tousle his bangs, being all friendly. "Good morning, you! How was your night down south?" Paul Anka does not appreciate her "bottom of the bed" humor, and ignores her, turning back to the bird which has now stopped its song and is primping itself. Pity. He was so hoping his mommy could wake up to the sound of song. Paul Anka would sing, and his name would certainly bode well for his attempts, but again, he chooses not to. He's very self conscious of his voice, see. He rarely utters a word out loud. Doesn't matter, really. Nobody understands his language. You'd think he was speaking Klingon, but that would be more universal even, it seems, than Dog. Paul Anka would like to speak Klingon someday, but alas, his mommy is not a Trekkie. Perhaps he'll just stick to learning this odd English way of speaking folk have. You cannot undertake a more ghastly proposition than that. Their language makes no sense, and sounds odd coming past the lips. But none of the humans seem interested in learning Paul Anka's language, so he will trudge on in his attempts to understand them.

Rory he understands, for the most part. Lorelai he does not. Luke, that man who always wears the same clothing, mumbles a lot and his voice is so deep that it's difficult to hear. Babette speaks Cat fluently, but Paul Anka doesn't care to talk to felines or Babette, who has run after him with a broom a few times to chase him out of her yard. She would never hurt an animal, see, but she can be quite the intimidating sight if you happen to be in the .5 populace that is shorter than her.

Poor Paul Anka.

Rory has been silent all this time, seeming contemplative. She's been watching the bird outside of the window, and now it chooses to fly away, taking its beautiful song far away from here. That seems to snap Rory into action. She throws open the draperies wide, giving Paul Anka more of that wonderful sun. The sun hits Lorelai's closed eyes, and her muffled protests sound as if they include profanities. With an arm, she smacks at the sunlight, trying to steer it or wave it away. Something peculiar. Does she not know that you cannot move the sun? Finally, she groans loudly, like a man, and covers her still closed eyes with both hands.

"You are a devil child!" she rants to Rory.

Rory takes no pause. She shrugs her shoulders good-naturedly, and pounces onto the bed! Terrified, Paul Anka quickly jumps off and runs to a safe corner of the room. Now that he's gone, Rory takes his place on the bed, and begins jumping up and down on the mattress, stomping those Gilmore feet into the sleeping mechanism over and over again, bouncing Lorelai's form around the entire surface.

"Devil child! Devil!"

"Good morning, good morning, good morning, good folk!" rambles Rory, her voice carrying many variable tones as she is currently continuing her aerobic exercises on top of Lorelai's mattress. The covers have completely been messed up, and are curling into a sort of ball near the center. Lorelai clings to the sheets, pulling them up beneath her chin, as if seeking warmth, when surely she can feel that it is warm all around this room. More likely, she is attempting to use them as a shield against her raging child. Finally opening her eyes, she groans again, louder this time, and sits up.

"All right! All right! I'm up!"

Rory finishes her exercises, jumping and landing off the bed. She raises her arms above her shoulders, in a graceful gymnastics salute, and then turns back around to face her mom. Paul Anka cowers in the corner, afraid that any minute she'll begin that horrible bouncing again. What a ridiculous thing to do. These humans... sometimes they don't make sense.

"Now, Mom," says Rory, stepping forward to gently clasp Lorelai's hands in hers, "I know that this will be a horrible day for you. But I am determined to get you up and out of bed. I'm glad I could be a comfort last night, but soon I have to leave, and I don't want you wallowing on top of a mattress."

"I do not wallow. I will not be wallowing." What a silly word. Too much of the same sound.

"Mom. Come on. I know you."

"What do you know? Really, what do you know?" Lorelai is impatient, tired, moody. She and Paul Anka had planned to spend the whole day together with their eyes closed. It looks now as if that will not be allowed.

"I know that it's June third, and that this will forever-more be a sad day for you. Mom, I don't want it to be sad. I want you to get up, and have fun! Think of anything else but Luke and the so-called wedding that would have normally come today."

Lorelai sighs, not liking this speech one bit. "You've called in reinforcements, haven't you?" She gasps with a realization. "Did you call Luke? Did you bribe him into coming over? I do not want to see Luke today!"

"No Luke. I promise. No Luke."

"Then what do I have to get up for? You'll be gone all day, writing whatever it is you write. Are you going to write about me? Are you going to insert my wedding date into the obituaries?"

"Your wedding day is not dead, it's just not the day of your wedding anymore."

Lorelai curls her lip up, disgusted. "Well... Nrph."

Rory is as determined as ever. Since she's gotten her life back on track, she insists on setting the tracks for the lives of others. One of these days, Paul Anka knows a train is going to come railing by to massacre them all. Stalking over to the closet, Rory begins speaking again. "Now, Mom, I need you to go hop in the shower, and then wear this." She spreads the white dress out on Lorelai's messed up bed.

Lorelai coughs, not accidentally. "Uh. My wedding dress?"

"Yes. Your wedding dress."

"Are you trying to make me cry on purpose, or..." She gasps again. "You have a plan. You've been up late nights, twisting your thin moustache, hatching this day into an egg, haven't you?"

"Let us never talk about me and facial hair ever again."

"Sorry. That was a low blow."

"Yes. So. Up! Shower! And dress! In your dress!"

"Why would I wear my wedding dress? Why the hell would I ever wear that thing again? Luke and I are **never** getting married."

"You may not be marrying Luke today, but you are going to your wedding."

Lorelai eyes her daughter suspiciously. "I'm listening."

--

Paul Anka is the one dog in the world that is not colorblind. There is food all around him, of varying colors. Reds, pinks, whites, browns, and even some grey. Like the grey in Paul Anka's coat. Paul Anka's getting older. Someday, he knows that Lorelai will go grey as well and then they'll match. Which is important. To dogs who are not colorblind. And Lorelai, who is possibly not colorblind as well.

Sookie is a darling, but Paul Anka doesn't like her much. She's a little overzealous, petting him a little too excitedly. She's too used to children, and pulls on the hair a bit much. Paul Anka doesn't like pulling anything, especially his own weight. Lorelai is the sole provider, and today, Sookie is a part of that sole. She's talking to Lorelai in that happy little girl manner of hers, describing the millions of varieties of food that now sit in a circle on the living room floor. They had to move the little table out of the room, and the couch back a few inches, in order to accommodate all of the large plates.

"Now," says Sookie in that too-fast way of hers, "all of the food is a sampling of what you would have had at your wedding. All chosen by you with me, so you should like it. Rory wanted everything to be the same as it would on your wedding day, and you get to enjoy it all on your own, without having to share with Luke -- oh, sorry, I mentioned the wrong name, and without Rory, and without me, without anyone here to challenge you when you say you want to eat everything. Now you really can eat everything. And look, you've got Paul Anka here for company!"

"Okay, Sookie," says Lorelai in her pretty white wedding dress. "All for me, and none for you. Got it. Should be a ball."

"Good try, but mean it more when you say it," Sookie preaches.

"I meant it. I do mean it. Paul Anka and me... and I... we're gonna have a party. A party in my mouth."

"You're not really going to put Paul Anka in your mouth party...?"

"Only if he insists."

"He'll taste pretty hairy."

"You win." It's so odd for Lorelai to give in and let someone else's words beat out her own. Paul Anka thinks that she's really run down today. He doesn't quite know why, except that she didn't wake up with that Luke man, and that seems to have made her sad. Sadness is not an emotion that Lorelai feels often, and one that she never expresses. Especially not to her dog. It's all right, really. Paul Anka tends to be sad some of the time. Something about getting older, being grey, speaking a different language... it's all very sobering.

The door closes behind Sookie, and now Rory is gone. It is only Lorelai, Paul Anka, and all of this food. Paul Anka sniffs at it, declares it distasteful, and wanders over to the moved over couch. He chooses to watch, not taste. He's not really one for food, even the dog food that he's given. Lorelai sometimes wonders if he's anorexic. He chooses not to declare an answer.

With the door now closed in her face, Lorelai stands staring at it, as if not wanting to look at anything else. Minutes pass. Finally, she turns to Paul Anka with a sigh.

"What do you think of the dress?" she asks self consciously.

Paul Anka sniffs the air. He looks in her general direction, but doesn't answer.

"Well," says Lorelai. "I like it. I thought Luke would like it, too. He says he does, but... Do you think that's the reason we're not getting married today? Because I showed him how I looked in the dress?" Lorelai is prone to accusatory gasps today. "That must be it. When I stood in front of him in this dress, April was conjured by the dark forces, something about their missing ring, and she was sent here to ruin my life! Paul Anka! You are a genius!"

This much he knows. He is happy he could bring her to a conclusion while sitting ineffectually on the couch.

"So this means," Lorelai muses, "that I must go find Luke and drag him back from that soccer game, or was it a fishing trip? Is it soccer season? Is it fishing season? Do I know what season it is? Well, that's no matter. I've got you to help me figure these things out." Indeed. "Wherever he is, I have to find him, and I need a new dress! Then we can set a new date, and wish that twelve year-old with the 'love me' eyes out of existence! We'll erase Luke's brain, put in a better fashion sense along with plenty of memories of me, wearing anything but my fat clothes, or wearing nothing at all -- " She glances at Paul Anka and realizes her mistake. "Sorry." She pulls a pretend zipper across her lips. "I will not discuss the adult things in front of my child."

That's that.

"Or maybe..." Lorelai sighs deeply, and seems to sober up. "Maybe there are no dark forces, no evil plans, no ring that got misplaced, and no bad luck from the early dress viewing. Paul Anka, it's time we grew up and faced the music. Luke is not marrying me because life got in the way. Life, capital L, for 'last-ditch-effort' to play us as the puppets in the Big Man's show. Oh yeah, Paul Anka, I do not kid you. God, up there?" She points to the ceiling. "Totally playing us. We're here for his entertainment and that only. We're like a bad episode of 'Passions'. Or maybe every episode was bad, but that's not the point. Though I seem to have lost the point somewhere along the way, where was I?..."

Paul Anka doesn't remind her, as frankly, at this point, he doesn't know. This woman, his wonderful mommy who cuddles him and kisses him and treats him as one of her own, is a very strange creature who tends to have too many thoughts for that pretty little head. When she is provoked, said thoughts come tumbling out in a fashion faster than it should be possible to speak any language, and finding something entirely true or thought-provoking in all of those thoughts is not only a difficult task but unheard of. It's better, Paul Anka has learned, to simply let her speak until she runs out of words. Which everyone is still patiently awaiting.

You know that way some people have of looking at their watches or their strategically placed bracelets and pretending they're watches when those people are impatient? Paul Anka snorts air out of his nose. Which is what he is doing right now, as Lorelai looks to him, genuinely seeking an answer to her question.

"You will not snort at me, Mister. I know what that means. It means you think I am an old, crazy lady with nothing but air in her head. And though ninety percent of the population may prove you right, as they are all apparently clones of my mother, I am going to prove you wrong. I am determined to make this day a good one, without Luke, without Rory, without..." Now she is starting to cry. "...Sookie, without Kirk, oh God, for the first time in my life I'm actually wondering, where is Kirk? Paul Anka, _what is wrong with me_?"

If only dogs knew. Paul Anka doesn't understand this question any more than he understands why Lorelai insists on calling him only by his full name. People would find this odd, if she went around asking, "What are you up to today, Luke Danes? My mother, Emily Gilmore, is planning on ruining my life, which apparently she didn't get to yesterday. My daughter, Rory Gilmore, has decided to team up with her and now they are both planning on walking all over me, and possibly banning together to take over the world. Oh, and Al Boreland from 'Tool Time' called. He wants his shirt back."

It's official. Lorelai is crying now. Full-on sobs, and Paul Anka suddenly feels ashamed, as if it was his thoughts that brought this about. Can she read minds now? Does she hate him now? Is he now banished from the house for the day like that bed-stealing Luke Danes? Is he actually now picking up Mommy's habit of calling something else only by their full name? Oh, God, it's all so distressing.

At once, Paul Anka is on his feet, leaping down from the bed, rushing to Lorelai's side as she makes her way into the living room and drops down on her pampered, recently lotioned-up knees. As she crashes to the ground, her tears continue to fall, and it is no longer enough comfort just for Paul Anka to be by her side. He crawls into her vacant lap, his favorite spot in the entire house, and brings his face up to the level of hers.

Noticing her dog's show of loyalty and affection, Lorelai giggles a bit in between her tears. Paul Anka leans toward her to begin licking off her tears, the salty taste of them a new sensation entirely on his tongue.

Lorelai sighs, laughs, and sniffles as she brings her crying to a halt. "This is stupid. This is supposed to be the greatest day of my life, and here I am, sitting in my living room, crying about it." Lorelai's eyes darken as she comes to a conclusion, her hands reaching up to wipe off her tears. She appears regretful of them, ashamed. Paul Anka speaks up to tell her that she should never be ashamed in front of him, and Lorelai nods, acting as though she understands. "See, you get it. The rest of the world may not, but you do.

"So." Lorelai fights through the last of her sniffles, determined to stop them and make this a happy day. "Paul Anka. Luke may not be here, I may not have half a dozen bridesmaids in tacky dresses, my mother may not be off in the corner telling embarrassing stories about me. But this **is** my wedding day. Or at least it was supposed to be. Now, Rory has set me up in this dress that I accented myself, both with my boobs and with glitter, having Sookie bring by a sampling of the entire menu of what was to be my wedding day, and damnit, this is going to be a wedding day! Maybe not mine, but... yours."

Paul Anka cocks his head, intrigued. Lorelai takes one of his paws. "It's time to start having a good day, my friend. A day just for you and me. We'll eat, we'll drink, we'll try that snort thing that seems to calm you down so much. We'll have a damn good day, just the two of us."

Still holding onto his paw, Lorelai morphed her face into something official. "Paul Anka, do you take this woman to be your wife, and blah-dy-blah-dy-blah?"

All Paul Anka understood was "blah", but he nods, or at least gives a doggish head tilt somewhat resembling a nod.

"Great!" Lorelai declares, dropping the paw and turning to the feast the happy couple now has set before them. "And now, to audition for my role as the world's fastest eater. I am ready to **inhale** this crap."

Lorelai clears her throat, and reaches for the eloquently typed menu set before her. "Sookie wouldn't leave without handing me this, because she says otherwise I might not know what this food actually is, and now that I'm looking at it, I think she was right. So! Paul Anka, are you prepared to continue?"

Paul Anka gives a doggy grin. Lorelai accepts the gruesome gesture as being of the good.

"Hors d'ouvres," she announces, making the word sound very important. "Crab-stuffed mushrooms, dilled shrimp, smoked salmon pate, and mussels in red whine sauce, served with our choice of California White Zinfandel or Australian Yellow-tail Merlot." Lorelai turns to Paul Anka. "It's a tongue-twister, that's for sure. And now, to twist your tongue. Try any of these you like, my friend." She picks up the tray of delicacies and puts it right beneath Paul Anka's snout. He sniffs at the food half-heartedly, licks his chops and turns away.

"All right, got it," says Lorelai. "I can take a hint. These will be for me."

Paul Anka watches, his attention peaked by the way she stuffs such odd-smelling "food" into her mouth. The grey stuff, the raw stuff, the red stuff. And she washes it down with large swigs from both wine bottles.

"Now, you'd think," Lorelai says in her 'I'm about to tell you something important' voice, "that for a girl like me, this would be the end, and I would be finished. But ohhh no, my friend. We're just getting started. I'll bet I could eat more than you if I tried. I'm bigger than you, I've got considerable pounds on you, and let's face it, you don't like this stuff. Before I make you believe all of that, I intend to prove it to you that I can, in fact, eat more than anyone else who could be sitting here right now. Paul Anka, are you listening? Unless you speak up when I'm holding something you'd like, I'm going to eat this **all**.

"Now, next on our order sheet," she says, picking up the piece of paper from Sookie once again, "is our first course. Isn't this exciting? ...Yeah, you look riveted. We have lobster bisque, served with chilled Chilean chardonnay."

Paul Anka watches her eat, noticing the way she doesn't sip her soup, but scoops the entire end of the spoon into her mouth, swallowing the liquid whole. Inhaling it is right; she wasn't kidding.

"Second course," announces Lorelai, her voice getting tipsy from the numerous glasses she has filled with such expensive alcohol. "Baby green and watercress salad with raspberry vinaigrette dressing." She frowns and looks closer at the sheet of paper, then takes it down to look at the dish set before her. "...Huh. Sookie must have added this to the menu. We all know this girl right here," she points to herself, "is not fond of anything so obviously green. Look at this lettuce! You could actually find nutrition in this food. She must have liquored me up before proposing the menu to me."

Paul Anka notes with some amusement just how liquored up Lorelai is right about now. She's likely to pass out before she makes it to the end of the menu. As if sensing his thoughts, Lorelai pauses before sticking a fork full of green into her mouth.

"Do you have something to say to me, Paul Anka?"

"I think you're quite drunk," he says in his language.

Lorelai nods, seeming content. "Yeah." Maybe she really can understand him... "Knew you had faith in me." Maybe not.

Continuing to shovel the fork into her mouth every fifteen seconds, Lorelai manages to put the entire salad into her stomach. Paul Anka hopes, quite rightly, that she won't be vomiting the green color of it all over his coat later on.

Taking a nice big gulp from some random bottle among the mess of plates and silverware, Lorelai's body sways. She looks drugged, turning to give Paul Anka a nice big smile. "I'm gonna finish this. I am. You watch me, Mister." She laughs, and it sounds like a poem that's been run over twice.

"Main course," Lorelai announces, stopping to hide a small burp. "Beef Wellington served with an exotic mushroom and leck sauce. Roasted New potatoes, charcoaled yam medallions, and baby white aspagassus -- aspag -- asparagus, served with Australian Cabernet Merlot." Lorelai is very amused at this point, openly laughing, and pretending, it seems, that Paul Anka is laughing with her. He would be, too, if he knew how to laugh. Something about the posturing is different, you have to make your body rise and slump while blasting a ridiculous sound from your mouth all at once. Paul Anka decides it's something he would rather not partake in. But just to show he's amused, he licks the edge of Lorelai's mouth with his tongue. She pats him kindly, not forgetting the affection between them despite her stupor.

"Oh my **God**!" Lorelai says after stabbing the first bite of beef with her fork and bringing it to her mouth. "I hire the best cooks! I am so good at this wedding stuff!" She tilts her head to the side, puffing a small bit of air from her mouth. "I should be, I've organized like three thousand of them."

Paul Anka does that nodding thing again, not quite understanding her slurred speech at the moment. He watches as she enjoys her food. She hands the fork to him a couple of times, and when the meat smells good, he takes her offering, chewing it up delicately in his mouth. She really is good at this wedding stuff.

Finishing the meal off with the rest of one of the bottles of wine, Lorelai turns one way, then another, then yet another, looking for the simple piece of paper from Sookie. "Paul Anka, have you seen...? Oh, there it is." She grabs it in her hands, and widens her eyes, bringing it closer to her face. "Okay, we're almost done. On the home stretch. The final course is, oh..." She looks like she might tear up again. "The wedding cake."

Lorelai gives a pitiful look to the piece of cake in front of her. "With the little bride and groom, all dressed for the occasion. Oh..." She sniffles in her drunken haze, but shakes her head violently. "No. I will not cry. This is a happy day! Paul Anka, aren't you happy?"

He tries his best to look so.

"And I know I'm happy, so we're all happy customers here! Let me just take this couple off of my cake and, yes, we'll just throw them really hard at the wall. There, nice splat. Okay." Lorelai takes a deep breath, and then begins to read the details for the final meal of the day. "It is marble cake -- like the flooring in my mother's stupid house -- both vanilla and chocolate, covered with butter cream frosting and tastefully decorated with white roses and pink dianthus." Her voice is much slower now, as is her brain, as she attempts to continually focus on the words in front of her. "See the little pink and white flowers?"

Paul Anka loves that she insists on interacting with him as though she can understand a single thing he says.

"Topped with traditional bride and groom statuettes -- ha, not anymore -- under a spun-sugar arbor covered with tiny sugar pink roses." Lorelai has to take pause for a second to admire the artistry of her remaining meal. It is truly exquisite. "Served with fine champagne from Ambonnay vineyards in France. And Sookie has written here, 'Yes, Lorelai, that is a real place.'" She looks at Paul Anka. "Good to know." Really, it is.

Unable to balance now, even as she is, sitting on her behind, Lorelai manages to take one very special bite of her very special cake. She spills champagne while attempting to pour it into her glass, but doesn't let that stop her from downing the glass in one humongous gulp. Exhausted from the meal, from the day, from the alcohol, she falls in a slump to the floor. Paul Anka comes up to her to nudge her arm away from the front portion of her body so that he can sit there, pressed up close against her. He does love her, and wants her to know this, especially on a day like today.

Before Lorelai can fall into a deep slumber, she manages to mutter one final thing: "Gotta say, Paul Anka... you throw one hell of a party."

--

Paul Anka awakens stiffly hours later when the sun has set, opening his eyes to find Rory gently petting his fur. "Looks like you guys had a good time. I've got to get Mom up to bed now... Paul Anka, did you enjoy your day?"

With frank certainty, he would have to say that yes, indeed he did.

- -  
end


End file.
